


SVS-06: The Two Hearted Path

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Series: The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair join forces with the FBI to bring down a crime lord who does business in drugs, prostitution, and murder. As they investigate, disturbing visions lead them to some truths about not only the case, but themselves.<br/>This story is a sequel to SVS-05: Dragon At The Gate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SVS-06: The Two Hearted Path

**Author's Note:**

> Episodes of SVS may contain depictions of consensual m/m sex. These depictions may or may not be accompanied by specific mention of items necessary for safe and healthy intercourse. It is the intention of FiveSenses, Inc. and all SVS authors that, even when such items are not explicitly mentioned, their use is to be assumed as a matter of course. All of us at FiveSenses, Inc. are aware of the risks of unprotected sex in today's world and strongly advocate the practice of safe sex, including the use of condoms and other protective devices.

## SVS-06: The Two Hearted Path

by Maggie B

Author's webpage: <http://www.squidge.org/5Senses/>

Author's disclaimer: This story is an episode of The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season (SVS), produced by FiveSenses, Inc. SVS is based on characters and concepts developed by, and belonging to, Pet Fly Productions. This story is intended for private, personal enjoyment only. No money is being made, or will be allowed to be made, by the author of this story or by FiveSenses, Inc. from the writing and distribution of this story. Any original characters introduced in an SVS episode belongs to the episode author and to FiveSenses, Inc. and should not be used without their permission.

Warmest thanks from FiveSenses, Inc. to Jessica Blackstone, Kimberly Workman, and Christi for their much appreciated contributions in beta reading this story. 

season, to the FiveSenses list for the fun discussions, to WoD for keeping me on track, and a special thanks to Rike for giving me the thrill of seeing my story reflected in her art. 

Author's e-mail: MaggieBcc@aol.com 

* * *

The Two Hearted Path  
By Maggie 

"Most problems created on the Two-Hearted Path begin when we follow our compulsive minds and leave the gift of spiritual guidance in the dust of our disregard. In contrast, when we bring our spirits home to our hearts, and become One-Hearted, our potentials come alive." -- John Kimmey, The Hopi Prophecy and the Time of Purification 

* * *

Charlie tracked the progress of the fly. It crawled down the flowered wallpaper of the hotel room, past the one full rose, the only one without a tear or stain. It flew to the ceiling, the window, then back again. Charlie swung his legs off the bed, sat up and stared at the phone. He'd left three messages for Ellison. He was worth more respect than this. Good snitches weren't easy to come by. And if he wasn't good at much else, he was good at that. 

He stood and paced -- _come on_ , _come on_ \-- traveling from bed to window, ending finally in front of the mirror where the reflection of someone he didn't know stared back at him. He was twenty but looked thirty. Soon he would see Grandfather in his reflection, skin ruddy bronze with lines on his face growing deep like the craggy landscape of Arizona. The thought warmed him and for a moment took him from this land of rain and deep green. 

"Do you still dream of me, Grandfather?" He traveled deep into his reflection. "What do your visions tell you about your Hopi grandson now?" 

The brief flash of warmth faded and he felt cold again. He spun away from the mirror. One hit; he just needed one, then he would get his shit together. Ellison's idea might work. He could try rehab: three meals, a roof over his head, all without the price of a blowjob. That's what Ellison said. And his partner, the one with the curly hair, had stood behind him, nodding; looking at Charlie like Grandfather used to, like he mattered for something. 

Charlie rubbed his eyes. Tired. He was so tired, but he couldn't sleep. He scratched his arms, bumping over scabs formed yesterday and the day before from different things: the needle, the scratch of his own fingernails, and that guy who got rough. Charlie took a breath and let it out. 

"Fuck this." 

In two strides he was at the door. He could earn it the hard way one more time. What the hell did it matter. He reached the door and opened it with a yank, stalling suddenly and gasping at the man standing there, poised to knock. 

"Charlie-boy," the man said. 

"Rock?" Charlie tried to keep his voice from quivering, but it shook anyway and rose in pitch. "What the hell are you doing here?" 

"Came to see you. Gonna let me in?" 

Charlie stood firm for a moment, drawing his spine straight. Then Rock chuckled, that low mean sound, and pushed him back into the room, following and closing the door behind him. 

"Where you off to?" Rock flashed white teeth. 

Charlie shrugged and stepped toward the window. He looked through a tear in the shade, noticed the sky taking on color, a sign to go home. But, Rock was here and you didn't get around him; you waited till he let you go. Rock's beard and mustache were gone. He wore the black Stetson, pulled low till it almost touched his sunglasses. Charlie tried to remember the last time he'd seen Rock's eyes. 

"Nowhere." Charlie looked at him and made his shoulders relax. It wasn't good to show Rock how scared you were. He liked it too much. 

"Nowhere, huh?" Rock walked toward him. "Now that doesn't sound like the path for a smart boy like you." 

Charlie tried not to flinch as Rock reached out and caressed his cheek. 

"Whatever," he said. 

"You look like shit, Charlie-boy. Been holding out on yourself again, haven't you? Been thinking it's time to clean up your act and start living right? Shit. You could get yourself one of those sweet, clean little jobs where you ask folks if they want fries with that." 

Rock traced his thumb across Charlie's mouth. 

"That would be a shame." He pushed his thumb in, rolled it across Charlie's tongue then pulled it back and sucked it into his own mouth. "Shame to waste a mouth as sweet as yours. You're a natural. Never met a better cock sucker than you." 

Charlie flinched as Rock reached for him again. He backed up into the corner. 

"Look, what do you want man?" he asked. "You want a blow-job? No problem. So long as you got the cash." 

"I got better than cash, baby." Rock pulled a bag from his pocket. "I got your joy juice here. I know what you like. I came prepared. And, what I want is your mouth around my cock. Now." 

He pulled Charlie from the corner and pushed him on the bed. Charlie lifted himself on shaking arms and sat on the edge. He looked at the bag and chewed his lip. There was more than one hit in there. There was enough to get him through the week. 

"So you came here for my mouth, huh?" Charlie leaned back on his elbows, tossed his head back and forced a grin. He could do this. Hell, yeah. So what if it was Rock. What the hell did it matter? 

"Yeah." Rock grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him up. "Do it." 

Easy. This was easy. The act. Charlie almost liked this part when he didn't have to think, when his hands took over, then his mouth. He popped the button on Rock's fly, pulled the zipper down slow, leaned in and mouthed the hard shaft through the fabric of white briefs. Rock moaned. They always moaned. So easy. He pulled the black jeans open and down. Then reached for the briefs. 

"Slow it down, Charlie-boy." 

Rock's hands were in his hair, pulling his head back. Charlie looked up and found his own reflection tossed back at him from Rock's sunglasses. A sound escaped him, something small. 

"My show, boy. Remember that." 

Charlie nodded as much as the grip to his hair would allow. After a moment, the grip eased and he moved his head forward. He touched Rock's hips, petted them, fingered the elastic of the briefs, lifted his eyebrows. Rock nodded. He remembered then, how Rock liked his shaft held tight at the base. He pulled the briefs down and moved his hands in slowly until his fingers brushed the wiry patch of hair. 

"Do it." Rock said. "Do it slow, like I taught you." 

And, Charlie did. He was slow and sure. He remembered the lessons and he followed them. This would be it. This would be the last time. He wasn't doing this shit anymore. Just one more time. Once more to get the bag. Then he could get off the stuff slow, a little at a time. And, he could do it by himself. He didn't need anyone's damn help. 

Rock moaned and thrust into his mouth. Charlie felt the grip on his hair again, but it was okay. He could take this. He could take anything. Then Rock was letting go, shooting down his throat. Roaring like a lion, like the king of the goddamned world. 

It took a few minutes for Rock to come back down, to slow his breath and look at him. 

"Let's take care of you now, baby." 

Charlie rubbed his hands on his jeans as Rock put his clothes back together. 

"I got it covered, Rock. Just give me the bag and you're good to go." 

"Yeah, right, little man. The way your hands are shaking, you'd lose half and then where would you be?" Rock smiled at him, a smile without teeth, gentle, almost caring. "Lie down. I'll take care of you." 

Charlie shrugged and scooted up the bed. If Rock wanted to play nice let him. Rock used to be nice, sometimes. Charlie lay back against the pillow and tried not to think of those times. They had been good, those times when Rock liked him. 

He watched the preparation. Rock was always slow. Too damned slow at everything. But, eventually, the powder became liquid and floated in the syringe. Rock found the vein first try. God. Now it would be okay. Charlie almost cried with relief but bit his lip then sighed as Rock pushed the plunger in slow, slow. Then yeah, oh yeah, shit yeah. There it was. The burn across his shoulders, that sweet ache. And the room softened, the edges blurred until the roses were whole and the light looked clean through the window. 

"Sorry, Charlie-boy," Rock whispered. "I'm sorry you've got to die. Can't have you spilling my secrets though. I just can't." 

Charlie tried to make sense of Rock's words. But, he was floating away and it felt too good to stop. He felt Rock's hand on his forehead, stroking. Nice. And as the room grew dim then gray then black, he heard the muted sound of a phone ringing. 

* * *

Blair was the wolf, padding silently down a dim hallway. It was past the time of evening when the dark feels heavy and sounds tap the spine like unwelcome fingers. Light spilled beneath one door, the last door in a long row of doors with silver numbers hung from nails in the wall beside them. The carpet smelled of earth and mildew and cigarette ash. It trailed like a path of stains toward the door with the light. He followed it until he stood just outside, listening to the shifting cadence of a voice pitched low. The tone unsettled him. He pulled his focus in, narrowed it to the beat of his own heart until he felt at peace and the rhythm became language. 

A drumming started. It swelled past his heart into the air of the hallway, then under the door in front of him. It shouted for him and he leapt as the door swung open to a brilliant light. He moved through it and emerged into morning within the library of Rainier. Students gathered at tables of deep cherry. He wove among them and caught threads of quiet debate over myth and culture and prophecy. In the midst of them sat an ancient, a man with skin of bronze and leather, deep lines etched his face. He turned to Blair and the lines about his eyes crinkled as he smiled a smile of welcome; a smile of greeting to someone long awaited. 

Blair woke from the dream with a start. The ground was shifting. It took a moment for him to realize the ground was Jim, thrashing about within a dream of his own. Blair lay like a blanket over him. He lifted himself slightly and looked down into Jim's face, tinted with the blue light of early morning. 

"Shh." he smoothed his palm across Jim's forehead. 

The struggle quieted then stilled. Jim's face went slack, his lips parted on a soft breath and his hand came to rest on Blair's ass. 

Blair smiled and curved his hand down to Jim's cheek then trailed his fingers across the cool skin of one shoulder toward the chest, now rising and falling in a calm rhythm. He loved to touch Jim's chest, the mix of soft skin and firm muscle. He traced one finger along the ridge defining the pectorals from the abdomen and thought of women's bodies so generous and warm, full of curves, secret folds and soft places. His past lately felt like an abstract thing, the history of someone else. The only reality was Jim. He was the constant, the one searched for, the one found. Blair felt a pang in his chest, the neurotic little twitch that liked to flare when things were going too well. 

Jim mumbled in his sleep, a surprised sound, low then high in pitch. Blair flattened his palm against Jim's belly and smiled at the twitch of fingers on his ass. He skated his hand down and took hold of Jim's soft cock. He lay back down, rested his cheek on Jim's chest, felt the rumble of a soft snore. When Jim woke, Blair would ask again about the nightmare. Maybe this time Jim would tell him what it was. For now, he would imagine Jim's fingers were truly aware of his ass and that Jim's cock was hardening due to a pornographic idea involving said ass. Blair's own cock began to take interest in those possibilities, all the way up to the point when Jim mumbled "Carolyn." 

Blair froze; a sudden flash of cold then hot sparked through him. He sat up, knocking Jim's arm away. 

"Son of a bitch." 

Jim's eyelids flew open and he blinked. 

"What? Whatzit?" 

"Fuck off!" 

Blair shifted toward the edge of the bed and swung his legs over only to find his chest circled by strong arms. 

"Chief? Easy. What's wrong? What happened?" 

"Nothing. I have to pee." 

"You told me to fuck off." 

"Yeah?" 

"Did I tell you not to pee or something?" Jim sounded lost. 

"NO." Blair felt ridiculous. "I just, you just. Never mind, okay?" 

Jim's arms tightened into a squeeze as he buried his face in Blair's neck. "Bad dream?" He rocked Blair side to side and smiled against his shoulder. "The one with the flying monkeys?" He chuckled. "Or the one with Judy Garland and that dog?" 

"Okay. That's it. Let go." Blair twisted and Jim released him. "I'm not a fucking Terrier." 

Jim's mouth hung open. Arms flung wide. Blair stomped down the stairs, ignoring Jim's shout. 

"I didn't say you were! Did I?" 

Blair slammed the bathroom door and leaned on the sink. He looked up and caught his reflection. He saw stubble and not just your average stubble either. It was some goddamned heavy stubble. He twisted his neck and stared at his ass. 

"It's a goddamned man's ass," he said then jerked at Jim's response through the door. 

"I thought you had to pee." 

Shit. 

"What? Is it your morning for pee patrol?" 

"You're not the only one with a bladder, Sandburg." 

Blair peed, left the seat up, refused to flush, then turned and pulled the door open. Jim stood with his arms crossed, white boxers slung low on his hips, chin tilted up. There were shadows under his eyes like small bruises and he had that look, the one he didn't get often, the "You're Scaring Me Here, Chief" look. Blair deflated like a popped balloon. 

"Sorry man." He waved Jim toward the toilet. "I'm going to grab a shower, okay?" 

"Sure." Jim's arms dropped to his sides. 

Blair turned the water on in the shower and paused just outside the curtain to let it warm. He tossed a sideways look at Jim. Now that was a man's ass. That was... hell that was perfection. 

"So." Blair cleared his throat. "You had another nightmare this morning." 

Jim finished up, closed the toilet lid and flushed. "San Francisco. The bust." He shrugged. "Then we were in the shower and I was washing your hair. And, you were making that noise... then damned if Carolyn didn't show up, knocking on the bathroom door, saying something about lunch." 

Blair felt his eyes go round. "What noise?" 

Jim washed his hands and hung the towel back on the rod. "The kinky one." 

"Yeah?" Blair felt an absurd amount of relief. "Well, at least you weren't dreaming about her ass." 

Jim looked as if he might ask what the hell that meant, but instead chewed his lip and nodded. Blair grinned. Jim grinned back. 

"You're weird as hell this morning, Chief." He pointed to the shower. "And you're wasting hot water." 

"Oh, yeah. Hey, you can go first." Blair arched an eyebrow. "Or we could share." 

Jim paused a moment, scanning Blair as if he could unlock the mystery from three paces, then shook his head and came closer. 

"Good idea." He touched Blair's jaw, ran his thumb along the whiskers. "You need a shave." 

Blair followed Jim into the shower. Water rushed down his back, over his shoulders, across his chest. He shuddered as Jim followed the path with his fingers, dipping into the hollow at Blair's neck, tracing the line of water past his sternum, through the dusting of hair, into his navel. Blair gasped. Jim smiled, that dirty quirk of lips, and began retracing the path with his tongue. Coherent thought flew away as Jim reached his groin. 

"Oh man." Blair allowed his head to fall back under the stream. Water pulled his hair down, made it heavy and Blair fought for balance. Jim steadied him with hands on his hips. They soon slid to his ass, squeezing, bringing him forward. Heat. God. Oh. Jim swallowed his cock. So good. Blair lifted his head away from the shower stream and looked down. Water ran from his hair down his chest over Jim's lips, which were working hard now, sucking. 

"Jim. Now. Oh shit." 

He came and thought returned slowly, at a pace to match Jim's slide up his body. Nothing had ever felt this good. Held tight to a muscled chest, leaning in toward the kiss, giving way to Jim's tongue as it pushed in and took over, he thought of desire and love and knew everything he ever felt before this man was preparation. 

Jim released his mouth with a slow tug of teeth against his lower lip. He pushed Blair against the wall of the shower, nudged his legs apart, lifted him a bit and brought their groins together. They moaned. Blair's breath hitched at the new flare of sensation along his cock. Jim began to move, sliding his hard shaft against Blair's. 

"Can't get enough of you," Jim said before plunging back for another kiss. 

The pace mounted. Blair felt the cold of the wall against his back as Jim's thrusts moved him up then down the slick tile. Jim's hands were on his ass again, squeezing, moving his hips in a circle, grinding their cocks together. 

Blair pulled his mouth away and panted. Jim latched onto his neck, scraped his teeth against the soft flesh, slid down to Blair's shoulder and bit. With a shout, Blair came again. Jim moved faster. Pumping, pumping. Blair tried to thrust back but lacked the strength to do more than cling. 

"Yes!" Jim's roar echoed around them. 

Then the air settled into quiet except for shaking breaths and the splatter of water on skin. Jim brought his forehead against Blair's, rolled his head gently from side to side. 

"Damn," he said. 

"Mmm." 

Jim grinned at his incoherent response. "You've got a damn fine ass, Chief. Manliest ass I've ever seen." 

Blair snorted. "Smooth talker." Then pulled Jim's mouth back to his own. 

The shower ran cold, they ran late, but eventually got ready to head into the station. 

"It's barely light," Blair complained as he pulled their jackets from the rack by the door. "Remind me why Simon picked six thirty in the morning for our meeting?" 

"He wants to leave early today so he's getting us out of the way." Jim grabbed his jacket and began a search for something in the pockets. "He's doing something with Darryl." 

Blair yawned and watched as Jim moved his search to the seat cushions of the couch. 

"What're you looking for?" 

"My cell phone." 

"Oh man." Blair smacked his forehead. "I borrowed it last night when I ran to the library because mine wasn't charged. It's in the Volvo." 

"Great Chief." 

Jim pulled his jacket on and grabbed his keys. He cuffed Blair on the back of the head and opened the door. Blair tossed a sheepish look over his shoulder and sprinted down the stairs. He found the phone in his car then joined Jim in the truck. 

"Here you go." He checked the battery indicator, still okay, then tossed the phone at Jim before climbing in. "Sorry about that." 

Jim ignored him and focused on dialing in to check his messages. He frowned. 

"What's wrong?" Blair asked. 

"Charlie left three messages." Jim punched a number into the phone. 

"Damn." Blair pictured the kid, no doubt pacing somewhere, and wondered what was up. Charlie was a sad case. He needed to get off the streets soon or he never would. When they met, he had felt something click between them, nothing definable but solid. And he had watched Charlie's trust grow. Jim had worked hard to build that trust. Blair hoped he hadn't just blown it. 

"No answer." Jim dropped the phone on the seat between them. "Wonder what he's got." 

"He didn't give any clue in the messages?" 

Jim shook his head and pulled the truck out into traffic. 

"Shit Jim, I'm sorry." 

Jim sighed. "Don't worry about it, Chief. Just try to keep your own phone charged so you're not borrowing mine, all right?" 

"Sure." Blair looked out the window. 

He felt a tug on his hair. "Hey Darwin, I said don't worry about it." 

Blair turned back and caught the warmth in Jim's glance. He smiled at the slightly befuddled look on his face and felt a rush of sympathy. 

"Strange morning, huh? I hope I didn't wear you out in the shower," Blair teased in an effort to wipe the crease from between Jim's eyebrows. "You look kind of tired. You know, some say early morning sex clouds the mind, slows the synapses in the old brain." 

"My synapses are fine, Sandburg. And just whose brain are you calling old?" Despite the gruff tone, Jim's shoulders relaxed a bit and his grip on the steering wheel eased. "You have too many brain cells. That's your problem. They crowd each other, stuff gets lost." Jim tapped the wheel; chuckled at his own joke and the line of concentration gave way to an Ellison grin. 

Blair took a quick breath, tossed suddenly by a wave of affection. 

"What?" Jim asked. 

"You." 

"Mm." Jim nodded. "Maybe there's something to this morning sex theory after all. For the younger less refined partners, I imagine it could be a problem. Maybe I better start cutting you off, huh Junior? Let you work up to handling it a little better." 

Blair squawked a protest but the ring of the cell phone cut it short. 

"Charlie," Jim began, "...oh, sorry Simon. What's up?" 

Any thoughts of teasing faded as he watched the expression forming on Jim's face. 

"Shit. Yeah, we're on our way." Jim hung up the phone and glanced at him. "The Feds had a sting set up for Kennet this morning, but he never showed. Instead, we've got three dead bodies under the wharf." 

"Any ID?" 

"All three were FBI. Someone blew their cover." 

"Man." Blair grimaced as Jim popped the lights and sirens on. "You think Charlie knows something?" 

"For his sake, I hope not." 

* * *

The wharf teemed with FBI, police cruisers and grim faces. Simon was not in the general mill and if not for the pungent odor of fish, Jim would have found him by the trademark scent of his cigar. But, he wasn't in that much of a hurry to face what was coming, so he searched the old fashioned way: he looked around. He had a headache, the dull throbbing kind that settled at the base of his skull. He needed a good night's sleep, just one night without that fucking nightmare. The dream was always the same... 

* * *

...The panther morphs into a mirror of Jim. The mirror speaks: 

"Fear will blind you. Trust your senses, trust your heart or be lost as the path splits in two." 

Jim is back at the construction site in San Francisco. The perp holds Blair in front of him like a shield. Their faces are inches apart and keep blurring together until he can't tell one from the other. And the panther circles Jim's legs, nudges him to make a decision until he fires. 

And his shot takes Blair's face off. In one instant, everything precious in his life turns to blood... 

* * *

Jim pulled himself back from thoughts about the dream and rubbed his forehead. He had to shake it off. It was just a nightmare. Let it go. But, it seeped into his days now, rested just at the perimeter of his mind and kept him on edge. It also made him hover near Blair like some anxious kid. 

Blair stood beside him now. He had been quiet on the quick drive to the crime scene. His mouth was set in a tense frown. Jim wanted to rearrange those lips but settled on a friendly pat to one shoulder. It wasn't enough. Since the bust in San Francisco, Jim could not get enough of Blair, the physical reality of him, whole and warm and alive. 

Blair wanted to know about the nightmares. Hurt flashed across his face when Jim shrugged him off. Jim knew he should tell him. He had resolved not to keep his dreams from Blair anymore. But this one felt different. How the hell could he tell him about this? Hey Chief, get a load of this one; I dreamt I killed you... again. 

Jim hated dreams. He fucking hated them for the twisted messages Blair insisted he listen to, for the shadow logic and the grip they held him in long past waking. He hated that feeling almost as much as the friendly distance he kept from Blair in public. It felt like a leash. Polite distance, touching like they always had but pulling back from a caress. He watched now as Blair struggled with the zipper of his jacket. Curls flew in every direction as the wind picked up and swirled around them. Jim's fingers tingled and nearly ached with the effort it took not to reach out and push those curls back. It was the little things that bugged him most days. Little moments missed for the sake of a bigger picture. 

"Ellison, over here." Simon waved from behind the yellow tape separating the crime scene from the rest of the wharf. 

Jim nodded and walked over. Blair fell in step beside him. 

"What's the story?" Jim asked. 

"One shot, back of the head. All three victims were found face down with their arms tied behind their backs." 

"Tied with wire?" Jim quirked an eyebrow. 

"You've got it. Kennet's trademark." 

"Any idea how the cover was blown?" Jim asked. 

Simon shook his head. "Not yet. At least I haven't heard the theories. I'm sure Bowen has some but so far he's not been inclined to share." 

The FBI agent in question stood near one of the cruisers, cell phone pressed to his ear. Jim focused his hearing in time to catch the last bit before he hung up. 

"No. I am not pulling him. He's the best chance we've got. We can discuss this later." Bowen shoved the phone in his jacket pocket and turned to the bay with a scowl and exhale of white breath. 

"Sounds like he still has a man on the inside," Jim said. 

Simon shot him a look. "You show any sign of knowledge about the FBI players in this case and your ass is going to land under suspicion, Jim. I doubt if even Sandburg here could come up with a plausible explanation for why you would be able to have heard that. Bowen is not only the Special Agent in Charge of our local FBI field office. He's a top of the line hard ass. Tread lightly." 

"Understood, sir." Jim said. "Kennet's killing sprees aren't limited to FBI agents. I'm assuming they'll want info about our own murder investigation. Jim ran his hand across his hair. "You know, when we've crossed paths with Bowen and his band of merry men before, they haven't been exactly willing to share information." 

"Maybe they don't need our input here," Blair spoke up. 

"Jim, stop preaching to me about things I know." Simon tapped the ash from his cigar. "And Sandburg, you would be wrong. Jim's presence was actually requested." 

Jim shot his eyebrows up in question. 

"Your card was found in the pants pocket of one of the victims," Simon said. 

Jim shrugged. "That's not too surprising really. I've been all over Kennet's turf asking for information that might help our case. Maybe I stumbled across Bowen's man and handed out a card." 

"Maybe." Simon agreed. "We need to get a look at the bodies and see if you recognize any of them." 

"Regardless of what I've seen, Captain, tell me we're not going to just turn our information over to Bowen. Not without some give and take." 

"Looks like he's coming this way." Blair tipped his chin in Bowen's direction. 

Jim watched as Bowen strode toward them. He was a big man with a thick mass of shortly cropped blond curls. He dressed well and had the finely groomed look of a man who knew what he liked. Wire-frame glasses offset the intensity of close set hazel eyes; but as he closed the distance, Jim noted the gleam. There was something familiar about that look. 

"Whoa," Blair murmured beside him. "He could rival you in the icy stare competition." 

Right, Jim thought, he'd seen that look in the mirror a few times. 

"Captain Banks." Bowen shook Simon's hand. 

"Agent Bowen, I'm sorry about your men." 

Bowen nodded his acknowledgement as he tossed his glance to Jim then back to Simon. 

"I need cooperation from your men, Captain," he said, "and I don't have the time or patience for tap dancing." 

"Now hold on a minute." Simon pulled himself to his full height. "I am more than willing to overlook pleasantries here but I will not put up with insinuations that my staff plan to withhold information pertinent to a federal investigation. Kennet is a thorn in everyone's side. We all want him taken down. It's time for all of us to cooperate." 

Bowen spared Jim another look, longer this time. Jim met the attitude head on with ice of his own. Bowen could be an arrogant, ego-driven asshole, but he was not immune to pain over the loss of his men. Jim noted the tension in his glance, the feel of a man dancing on the edge of a very fine line. 

"Agreed Captain." Bowen nodded to Simon then turned his glance back to Jim. "Can we get to work?" 

"Lead the way." Jim swept his arm toward the pier where the victims had now been covered with yellow tarps. 

Jim looked at Blair and frowned. He should stay back. Placing Blair in any close proximity to three shredded skulls seemed like a bad idea, a horribly bad idea. Jim flashed on a memory of San Francisco: Blair, streaks of blood on his cheek, slivers of bone in his hair, glassy eyes. Jim felt a tremor course through him and the sounds on the dock dimmed then swelled. He felt dizzy until a warm hand touched his back. 

"Ready, Jim?" Blair's voice was low and smooth; sound settled back to normal in its wake. 

"Chief, you don't need to see..." he began. 

"Let's go." Blair's chin lifted and his eyes held steel. 

Jim sighed but curbed his tongue. Blair knew the score at crime scenes. He handled himself well. So what the hell kind of argument could Jim use here. Blair, I need you to stay back: there's blood. Yeah, he might react well to that, in some other universe. 

Jim snapped on a set of gloves. One of the forensic team helped him pull the tarps back one at a time. Jim took care not to step on debris littered on the ground: bottle tops, shards of glass and gum wrappers. He squatted by each corpse and took the opportunity to extend his senses despite impatient sounds from Bowen. Something niggled at him, a small thing he couldn't quite grasp. 

"Do you recognize any of these men, Detective?" Bowen asked. 

There was nothing unusual about any of the victims. They were average height, average build. Just your basic average. The shooter had held the gun at the same angle for each shot, judging by the deflection of the bullet through each skull and out the left cheekbone. It had been the same with Jonathan Warner. Jim flashed to the memory of Warner's mother at the scene. She identified her son with half his face blown off. Jim's jaw clenched. This killer used the same technique regardless of his prey whether they were FBI or eighteen-year-old pushers. If you turned on Vincent Kennet, you got the same deal. 

"Jim?" Blair's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. 

He looked up and caught Blair's concerned gaze. He looked pale. Jim tried to soften his expression as he nodded at Blair but the effort was no doubt wasted. He was angry. Everything about Kennet and the people who carried out his orders pissed him off. 

"I don't recognize any of them." Jim stood and faced Bowen. "What was their cover and which one of them had my card in his pocket?" 

Bowen's jaw twitched and he sighed in irritation. 

"I have someone who needs to be present at this conversation," he said. "His situation dictates what information I share. We talk when I can arrange a meet." 

"Any idea when that might be?" Jim asked. 

"No." Bowen's cell phone rang. "Excuse me." 

"I wouldn't want to be in his shoes," Simon said as they watched Bowen walk away. 

After an agreement to meet with Simon later in the day, Jim and Blair headed back to the truck. Jim struggled with a nagging sense that something had been missed. He flipped through recent memory, all the snapshots of the scene, but couldn't pinpoint it. He slammed his door, which felt good but didn't resolve the unease, and then he started the engine. 

"Seatbelt," he reminded Blair. 

"Oh right." Blair cursed as the belt refused to cooperate. 

Jim reached over and untangled the belt before fastening it with a smooth click. 

"I guess it does work better that way." Blair's eyes reflected a warning of mischief. "Those senses of yours are amazing. You know just the right angle to click it to a guy." 

Jim snorted and shook his head. 

"Your hands are shaking, Chief." He nodded toward the dock. "Want to tell me what's going on in your head? If you're feeling shaky, why the hell were you so bent on seeing the bodies? The tough guy act isn't necessary." 

"I'm fine." Blair's cheeks flushed pink. "Just because I don't have ice water coursing through my veins doesn't mean I'm going to avoid crime scenes." 

Jim felt the muscles in his jaw twitch. "I'm not questioning your ability to handle a crime scene here, Chief, I'm just saying you don't have anything to prove." 

Blair froze for an instant, a look of surprise blooming on his face as if Jim had answered some question he wasn't supposed to know about. Then irritation took hold and his eyes darkened. 

"Let's talk about you for a minute." Blair took on the look of a microscope in narrow focus. "Mr. Tough Guy who has nightmares every fucking night but won't talk about them. How about you tell me what's going on in your head?" 

"Christ. Can the psychotherapy keep for later, Chief?" Jim sighed. Like hell he was going there now. He picked up the cell phone. "I'm calling Charlie again." 

He dialed the number and jerked a bit in surprise when a woman answered. 

"Who is this?" Jim asked. 

There was a pause then "Why don't you tell me who you're looking for?" 

Jim concentrated on background noise and heard the crackle of static followed by a voice from Dispatch. 

"This is Jim Ellison. I'm a detective with Major Crime. Now you want to tell me who you are?" 

"Officer Dannon. My partner and I answered a call from the manager here at the Regent Hotel. There's a body. Looks like some hustler OD'd." 

Jim sagged and squeezed his eyes shut for an instant. 

"Detective?" 

"Yeah." Jim looked out the windshield at the dark bank of clouds rolling in from the bay. "I'm on my way." 

He hung up then turned toward Blair. 

"What?" Blair touched his shoulder. 

"Charlie's dead." 

* * *

The rain began. It pelted the windshield as they pulled to the curb outside the Regent Hotel. The drive from the wharf had been silent, both men lost in their own thoughts. Blair caught the gaze of a mutt near the entrance, brown fur, matted tail and mournful eyes. He felt something twist in his chest. Charlie had called three times. 

He followed Jim from the truck into the building. The mask was in place, emotions in check as Jim trudged up the stairs ahead of him. Blair took a breath. The air seemed thin as they walked down the corridor toward the room at the end. Silver numbers were hung in an uneven slash along the wall beside the doorframe of room 207. An officer stood outside the door and nodded as Jim flashed his badge. In the last second before entering the room, Blair allowed a wish to bloom. It might not be Charlie. 

But it was. 

The room stunk of mold and cheap air freshener. A fly banged into the light fixture. The heater groaned and a flashbulb snapped twice as the crime scene was photographed and a uniform took notes. In the center of everything on a double bed lay Charlie with his eyes closed. He could have been asleep except his skin looked like wax and his chest was still. A tourniquet trailed from under his left arm which lay outstretched, palm up, fingers curled around nothing. A needle rested on the bed near his elbow at the end of a small trail of blood, dry now and dark as brick. Charlie had a tattoo of a heart on his arm; it was red with the name "Rosalita" spread across it like a banner. Blair always meant to ask him about Rosalita. 

Blair looked away from the bed. He focused on Jim, so calm, so detached. Blair took a breath then regretted it as the air made his lungs feel heavy. Everything felt heavy, his clothes, this room, and the world as it fell upon his shoulders. 

"Detective Ellison." Jim nodded at the female officer near the foot of the bed. 

"I'm Dannon, the one you spoke to." 

She shot a glance at Blair. 

"I'm with him," Blair said. 

Jim nodded and Dannon seemed disinclined to probe further. Instead she asked Jim what he knew of the victim then filled Jim in on the brief amount of information she had. Blair watched a drop of rain work it's way from Jim's hair to his temple then down. The muscle in his jaw twitched as he turned from Dannon and canvassed the room. Blair watched someone bag the needle and tourniquet. He thought of the details Jim might pick up and considered the misery of sentinel sight in a room of decay; the thought shot ice down his spine. 

"Who's that?" Jim tipped his chin toward the hallway. 

Blair followed his glance to a man in a dirty white T-shirt and jeans who was propped against the wall, giving a statement to another officer. 

"He's the manager of the place." Dannon checked her notepad. "Says the room was rented by the victim around midnight. He entered alone and as far as the manager claims to know, no one joined him." She shrugged. "This place sees a lot of action, so it'll be hell finding anyone with a memory about names or faces." 

Blair felt a sudden shift in the room as if a breeze or current brushed over him. The hair on his arms stood up and he looked toward Jim. He stared for a moment, stunned by the look of absolute horror on Jim's face. In an instant he was at his side. 

"Jim?" 

Jim seemed frozen in place, eyes glued to Charlie's body until a tremor passed through him and he backed away from the bed. 

"Hey." Blair moved into Jim's line of sight and grabbed his arms. "Talk to me. What's wrong? " 

Jim looked through him as if he were transparent then clenched his eyes shut. His breath took a ragged edge as he swallowed and nearly gagged. 

Blair dropped his voice to a whisper. "Easy, Jim. Calm down." 

Jim blinked and gripped Blair's shirt in both hands. His eyes blazed. 

"Leave," Jim said. "Leave now." 

"What?" 

Jim was in motion, pulling Blair to the door and into the hallway. 

"Jim, what're you doing?" 

"I want you out of here now, Sandburg. Outside. Get out!" 

Blair opened his mouth to protest. 

"Goddammit, I said NOW!" A flush spread across Jim's face like a burn. 

Blair stumbled backward until his back hit the wall. The officer in the hall walked up to him and grabbed his arm, ready to escort him from the scene. Blair shook the arm off. He struck the wall with one fist then turned and rushed to the stairs. 

* * *

Jim stood still, staring down the hallway, listening to the heavy pound of Blair's shoes on the stairs, the ragged hitches in his breath. He waited until the bell rattled above the door outside the front desk and shoes scuffed against pavement. A soft thud meant he had reached the truck. Cursing. Blair was cursing him. 

Jim pulled back to the sounds of the hallway: scrapes of Dannon's thumb along her notepad, a low comment from the manager, film whirring back in a camera. 

He stretched further into the room behind him and heard the panther moving, pacing back and forth. 

"Something going on I should know about, Detective?" Dannon stood next to him. 

"No." Jim turned toward the room. "Everyone done in there?" 

"Yeah, pretty much. The body just needs to be bagged and taken out." 

"Give me a minute." 

Jim held his keys and squeezed until they dug into his palm. He needed one look to be sure. With a sharp breath he walked through the door and heard the buzz of flies. He shuddered. There were a handful of them swarming near the light. Not hundreds. None on the face. Sweat beaded Jim's forehead as he neared the bed. It was Charlie, not Blair. He took a deep breath of relief. The musty stench of the room rocked him like a blow and beneath it something lingered, another odor, faded and out of place. 

The air crackled. It shifted within him. No. Around him. The room began to change. He had to get out of here. Get to Blair. A fly banged against his cheek, they circled him now. Jim turned toward the door and nearly fell as the panther rushed him, rising on its haunches to slam him back. 

"I can't look at this!" he yelled but his words were silent as if never spoken. 

The panther lifted its head and roared. Jim's own cry merged with the sound as he stared into eyes covered with a film of white. Then he flung himself away from everything, into the hallway, down the stairs, toward Blair. 

He burst through the door into sheets of rain, falling sideways, slicing the world into angles. Blair stood by the truck, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans. Jim took a moment to look at him and absorb the pink flush of his skin. 

"Blair." He jerked at the raw sound. "Please." 

As he spoke, the cloud of anger in Blair's eyes changed to concern, then he was moving forward, toward Jim. He said something and Jim strained to hear it but all sound seemed muffled and held a tinny ring like the moment after a gun fires when the only constants are vision and touch. 

Jim reached out and pulled Blair in, hugged him close. He nestled his face in the crook of Blair's neck where hair curled in wet ringlets and skin held the scent of new rain. He breathed deep and clung, squeezing tight enough to pull Blair onto his toes. In return, Blair held him, cradled his neck in the bend of one arm and stroked his head. Warmth blew in puffs against his ear and finally Blair's voice emerged. 

"Easy, I've got you. It's all right. Everything's all right." 

Tension drained from him and he sagged against Blair. 

"Come on, let's get out of this rain." Blair wobbled a bit under his weight then shifted until Jim's arm hung about his shoulders and they were pointed toward the truck. "Hand me the keys, Jim." 

His fingers cramped as he tried to open them and the keys fell to the curb. Blair propped him against the side of the truck and picked them up. He maneuvered Jim into the passenger seat and pulled back to close the door. As the warmth of Blair's body receded, the world began to shrink into black. Jim lunged forward, grasped Blair's face in both hands and tugged him back, nearly toppling him into the truck. 

"Blair." He crushed his mouth to Blair's, forced his lips apart and dove in. 

Blair tensed, forced a startled sound around Jim's tongue and pushed against his chest. Jim held on. Nothing mattered but the warm, writhing battle of their mouths. They shared breath that tasted of coffee and Sandburg's weird bread and it all felt normal, so wonderfully normal. 

"Shit," Blair said as he managed to tug free. "This is not the best place to explore my tonsils, Jim." 

A smear of blood marred Blair's cheek. He touched it and thought of bullets and faces blown off. 

"Blood." Jim ran his thumb across the smear, over and over until it was gone. 

Blair pulled Jim's hand back and turned the palm up. Jim looked down and saw the scratch his key had made. It stung now and he tossed out a small grunt of surprise. 

"I'm taking you home and you're going to tell me what the hell is going on. We work together, Jim." Blair's eyes were dark, the color of deep ocean, and his voice shook. "Charlie's dead. I fucked up. I get that but you don't get to shove me out because..." He rubbed his thumb across Jim's knuckles and his touch felt bare. "You need me." 

"Blair." 

"Just sit there and try to relax. I'm driving." Blair dropped his hand and pulled away. 

"Blair." 

The door creaked as Blair shut it and moved through the rain to the driver's side. Jim focused on the warmth still lingering on his hand, the trace of Blair's flavor in his mouth and felt calmer. Once inside, Blair blasted the heat and Jim suddenly noticed his own shivering. 

"Take a deep breath, Jim. Try to focus on my voice." 

The breath sliced him but he took another and another as Blair said to do. 

"Good." 

He swallowed and the pain in his chest eased into an ache, something tolerable and familiar. 

"Charlie wasn't your fault." He spoke to Blair's profile. 

In the silence, he listened to the shush of water under their wheels and the hiss of air from the heater and Blair's soft breath as he pulled it in, held it then let it go. 

"I doubt Charlie would have agreed." Blair shrugged and pain flashed across his face. 

Jim shook his head and struggled for something to say but his thoughts swirled around the panther and he couldn't focus. Instead, his senses spiked as he tried to watch everything, grasping pieces instead: the tan Chevy weaving through traffic, rain in the beard of the jogger crossing twelfth street and branches from the trees in the median as they bent in the wind. 

Beside him, Blair was talking as if Jim was listening, gesturing too much. Jim looked to the pavement beyond the windshield for something solid and unlikely to shift in the next few seconds. He was shaking less now, probably only noticeable to himself, but he couldn't get it to stop and that pissed him off. 

"...can't believe you fucking pushed me out of the hotel," Blair was saying. "You scared the shit out of me. What brought on the panic attack?" Blair assessed him now with glances thrown his way between stoplights and lane changes. "Talk to me. Panic is my area." 

"I did not have a goddamn panic attack," Jim ground out, "and don't start with your psychoanalytical crap, Chief. I'm not in the mood." 

Blair took a quick breath and set his shoulders. His face twisted from the effort involved in holding back what was undoubtedly the smart-ass comment of the decade. Instead, he held it in, glued his eyes to the road and let the breath out slowly through his teeth like steam sliding through the top of a volcano. 

"Yellow." Jim pointed to the traffic light shifting to red as Blair blew through the intersection. 

"Jim..." Dangerous calm. 

Jim swallowed at the masterful tone and wisely remained silent for the rest of the trip home. His senses settled back to a level closer to normal. By the time they reached the loft, the spikes were gone, replaced by an overall sense of alert. The loft was warm as they pulled off wet jackets and shoes. Blair pointed to the table. 

"Sit." 

Too tired to argue against a good idea, Jim sank onto a chair and rubbed his neck. Blair brought antiseptic and cotton balls from the bathroom and sat beside him. He pulled Jim's hand onto the table and blotted the scratch. The sting felt oddly good. 

"Just a scratch," Blair said. 

"Yeah." 

Blair held his hand and stared into it like a palm reader. Water dripped from his curls. They hung heavy about his face, sliding forward as he looked down. Jim reached out with his free hand and pushed them back. Too heavy to stay, they fell forward again and Jim clutched them, squeezing until water splattered the table. He held them in a loose fist, felt the pliant lift of strands, a slick-soft swirl like wild things. His breath hitched and a burn began low in his belly. Something dark pulsed through him. He pulled back then surged toward it, recognizing the heat and shadow of a place within, a place seated deep, holding greed and black cravings and permission. 

Blair glanced up and his eyes grew wide. Jim pulled his other hand free and thrust his fingers into those curls, seized them like lifelines, wrapped one hand behind Blair's neck then tugged him off the chair onto his knees. 

"Want you." 

Blair's lips parted on a small sound. He gripped Jim's forearms and leaned back, but Jim tugged harder and pulled him forward between his legs. With a twist of his wrist, he tilted Blair's head back then dove in. Their teeth clicked as he pushed Blair's mouth wide and possessed it. He absorbed Blair, devoured him, felt power surge through his fingers into his core. Blair moaned and the universe shrank to that sound. Jim collected echoes of Blair's noises in his mind and let them roll inside him, over and over, filling his need, making him huge. Untouchable. 

Jim pulled back and stared at the flushed face tilted up at him. Blair's lips were red and wet and suddenly all Jim wanted in the world were those lips on his body, surrounding his cock. 

"Your mouth. I want your mouth." He sounded rough, almost fierce. 

"What?" Blair looked dazed. 

"Do it." 

Something flared in Blair's eyes. For an instant the blue became black and he tugged at Jim's wrists. With effort, Jim released him then stood. He towered over Blair and felt a strange sense of having been in this moment before. Blair scrabbled at his belt, yanking it open. Jim staggered a bit and Blair paused, closed his eyes as if to gather himself, then opened them to reveal something new, something bleak and not quite realized. It brewed now within his glance and spoke of willingness and skill. It made Jim's cock ache. 

"You want my mouth, huh?" Blair seemed detached as he popped the button on Jim's fly, pulled the zipper down slow, leaned in and mouthed the hard shaft through the fabric of white briefs. Jim moaned. Blair pulled the slacks open and down. 

Jim found his hands twisted in Blair's hair again, pulling his head back. Blair looked up and Jim saw his own reflection tossed back at him from Blair's eyes. The room darkened, shadows moved at the edges of his vision and he spoke without meaning to; and his voice was deep and mean and not his voice at all: "My show, boy. Remember that." 

For an instant, he was frozen, watching as if outside himself as Blair nodded, touched Jim's hips, petted them, fingered the elastic of his briefs, lifted his eyebrows. Jim quivered with the need to move and the darkness expanded until shadows stretched from the corners of the room to the circle where Jim stood with Blair kneeling at his feet, ...kneeling with blank eyes and a slack expression. Jim heard it then, the low moan of a cornered animal. He caught the image of blue-black fur weaving at the edge of the darkness and a growl shattered the silence. It rose from within and Jim suddenly found solid ground. He threw his head back, roaring into the light where the loft was real and the shadows receded. 

He looked down to find Blair sitting on his heels. His eyelids drooped and he listed sideways. Jim dropped beside him and pulled Blair into a tight hug. He nuzzled his hair, kissed his temple, his cheek, his mouth. 

"Blair," he said, "my God." 

Blair rolled his face against Jim's chest and yielded to the hug. He felt boneless and heavy. Jim pushed curls back and looked at the quiet face. 

"Blair? Open your eyes. Look at me." 

Blair's eyes shifted back and forth beneath closed lids and he began to whisper. Jim listened and the words became a chant. 

"The time of Powaqa must end. You are the one." 

The words repeated and the chant grew louder. 

"Blair!" 

The chanting stopped suddenly. Blair's head lolled back and he hung limp in Jim's arms. Jim's chest grew tight as panic lapped at his defenses. Light flashed to his right and he looked up to find sunlight glinting through the wolf panel in the window of Blair's room. Jim blinked at the bright beam and Blair stirred. He rolled in toward Jim, curled his fingers in Jim's shirt and sighed. The sound was full of peace and the weight of deep slumber. It settled Jim a bit. He looked down at the calm face, drew in a shaky breath and wondered what the hell had just happened here. 

* * *

Blair felt the warm weight of a palm on his forehead. Coupled with the scratchy rub of a thumb back and forth across his brow and a soothing stroke of fingers along his side, it made him want to go back to sleep, to settle into the soft cushions beneath him and drift off. But he heard drumming and made an effort to lift eyelids so heavy the air itself seemed to press them down. The drum grew loud, persistent and he struggled toward it, listening as if it spoke to him. 

"Blair." 

Soft tap to his cheek. Harder. Again. 

"Ow." 

"Chief? Come on, open your eyes." Jim's voice sounded strained. 

Blair forced his eyelids up and found Jim staring at him, intensely concentrating. Blair wondered what was so fascinating. And, he wondered how he had ended up on the couch. 

"What's wrong?" He reached for Jim and found his hand crushed in a solid grip. 

"Thank God." Jim seemed to shrink as he slumped and pushed out a breath. "I couldn't get you to wake up. It's like you were dead to the world." 

"You okay?" Blair asked. 

Jim seemed to think this question was funny. He snorted at least then pulled Blair up and plastered him to his chest, wrapping him up, folding him close like a long lost teddy. Blair circled his arms around Jim's waist and squeezed hard. Jim sighed and Blair thought of long drinks of water as Jim's breath blew across his hair. Jim settled his chin on top of Blair's head and they held each other for a moment. Great space this was, this space of no distance, this tight, tight moment of Jim uncensored. 

"Hey." Blair spoke and squeezed Jim's middle. 

"Hey." Jim carded fingers through Blair's hair. 

"... Think I missed something here," Blair murmured. 

"Yeah." Jim huffed out a shaky breath. "A pretty big something." 

"You're going to tell me." His voice held steel despite the groggy tinge. 

"Yeah." Jim took a deep breath. "I'm going to tell you. I don't know what the hell it was, but I'm going to tell you all about it." 

Jim sighed and pulled away slightly. He pushed Blair's hair back and scanned his face. 

"Are you with me?" He tapped Blair's forehead. 

Blair pursed his lips and considered himself. He felt buzzed and heavy like the hour or so after a marathon sleep, the kind he used to get after posting final grades. But, he also thrummed with energy, a kind of expectancy, of what he wasn't sure. All in all, he felt great. Considering the misery at work on Jim's face, he almost felt guilty. 

"I'm with you," he said and pressed a kiss to Jim's mouth for good measure. 

"What do you remember?" Jim asked. 

"I was putting peroxide on your scratch. You kissed me." He smiled and ran a soothing hand up Jim's back. "It was a hot kiss. I landed on my knees and then..." He paused and closed his eyes for a second. "Shit. I'm not sure after that, things start to get fuzzy." 

Jim looked worried. Blair huffed in fond exasperation. 

"I'm fine. I just don't remember everything. So fill me in." He quirked an eyebrow and set his mouth. "Starting with what happened at the hotel. And, give me the full version, not the Ellison version." 

Jim nodded, kissed his forehead and sighed. 

"Well, actually the beginning comes before then. I've been dreaming about the panther. I've seen him in nightmares about the bust in San Francisco. I dream that I screw up and you die. The panther is always there, skulking around like some fucking angel of death. I figured it was just me reacting to the whole scene and how it all could have ended differently. I didn't want to talk about it. Hell, I don't even want to think about it. What's the point? Why dwell on shit like that?" 

"These dreams are always the same?" Blair asked. 

"Yeah." Jim rubbed one finger across Blair's mouth. "I should have told you about them. Now, it's worse. We've graduated from dreams to visions. Let me tell you about Charlie..." 

Jim's jaw underwent a workout and Blair's buzz melted away but eventually the story came out. Blair mulled the events over in his head as Jim heated up leftover lasagna for lunch. The vision at the hotel and the vision at the loft had to be linked. 

"Okay, let's try to piece this together." Blair walked to the kitchen, leaned on the island and watched Jim dish up two servings. "The vision in the hotel could mean all sorts of things. But, you cut out before the end so we don't know what the whole message was supposed to be." 

Jim tossed him a sour look. 

"I'm not criticizing." Blair held up his hands. "I'm just pointing out that to get a feel for what was really up in that room, we'll need to start with your senses. We need to isolate the different senses you experienced during that time and fit them together. Like a puzzle." 

"Just tell me this, Darwin." Jim handed him a plateful and a fork and leaned back against the sink. "Where is it written in the great book of visions that they have to be vague and filled with hidden meaning. Why can't they just come out and tell you what the message is? Like 'Detective Jim Ellison, listen up, Mr. So-And-So killed your victim. He is currently living two blocks down on Windsor. Go get him?'" 

Blair swallowed a mouthful of lasagna then grinned. "Hate to break it to you man, but there is no great book of visions." 

"Figures." 

"You're a detective. You should love this stuff." 

Jim snorted. 

"No really," Blair said. "It's like having clues dropped in your lap, well in this case, your head. And you don't even have to go looking for them or shaking them loose from a snitch." 

Charlie's face flashed in his mind and he flinched. 

"Chief, there's no way to know whether Charlie reaching us would have made any difference to how things played out. You have to let it go." 

Blair swallowed an acid taste. "That's not going to be easy." 

"I know." Jim's voice was soft and Blair looked up into gentle eyes. "But you will. It'll just take time." 

Something panged inside him at the weary knowledge in that gaze. Jim knew a lot about pain and regret and getting over things. Blair nodded and smiled. 

"Well, in regards to visions," Blair said. "You might try looking at them as messages from a foreign country. What would you do if you were alone in a non-English speaking country and needed to know what people were saying to you?" 

"Get an interpreter." Jim stabbed his fork in Blair's direction. 

"Very good." Blair grinned. "Now, lest you think I am driven by ego, I don't claim to be the interpreter for the spiritual plane. I'm just a good, not to mention handy, place to bounce things off. I might know what something means, or I might not. But when I don't, I can do research. I'm good at research." 

"You better be." Jim pushed lasagna around his plate and moved to the island. He leaned on his elbows and looked at Blair. "I still don't get why visions are so cryptic. And what was up with your chant about the time of the 'Powaqa?'" 

"If memory serves, Powaqa is a Hopi term. It can mean 'sorcerer.' A bad sorcerer who lives by the ruin of others," Blair said. 

"Hopi?" 

"And Charlie was Hopi." Blair nodded. "I'm doubting it's just a coincidence." 

Jim sighed. "We're still back to the fact that the message doesn't mean a whole lot to me." 

"That may have to do with the source of the vision." Blair shrugged. "Knowledge springs from all sources, not just the ones easiest for us to understand. You can't expect all messages to translate to your easiest frame of reference. I mean to be able to understand your visions without having to think about them, you'd have to be omniscient of not only current history but all history and we'd have to be able to pull together a common language." 

"Take a breath, Chief." 

He took a breath. "Not going to happen. The closest thing we have to a common language is sex and people botch that up all the time." 

Jim paused and seemed to mull things over. "So, where's the best place to start in figuring all this out?" 

"Well, the tools to understanding visions mostly lie within the person having them. You bring your own life experiences and perceptions to these visions." Blair reached out and smoothed his palm across Jim's arm. "The message gets filtered through your psyche so what you actually learn is limited by what you're willing to learn." 

"What I'm not afraid to learn, you mean. Calling me a coward, Chief?" Jim's voice held the barest hint of a challenge. 

"I'm saying you're probably repressing things." Blair made a big surprise face. "You're choosing to block out unpleasant emotions and to do that you must usually block out the stimulus producing them. In this case, I would say your mind is responding to fear- of loss, of failure, whatever. It turns what's really there for analysis into what could be there, thus clouding the feed of information." 

Jim set his plate aside, meal half eaten. He wove one arm protectively around his middle, rubbed his hand down his jaw and pinched his chin. 

"What's your suggestion for 'un-clouding' things?" 

"The usual, Jim." Blair smiled. "Trust me." 

One meditation CD and several sets of breathing exercises later, Jim looked relaxed. He sat on the couch with his arms limp at his sides, head resting back against the cushion. Blair began to guide his thoughts toward the hotel room, putting him inside the door. 

"Okay, Jim. Let's start with sight. What do you see?" 

Jim described the room in detail from the cracked and curling wallpaper to the sheen across Charlie's lips. Then they focused on sound and the steady rhythm of heartbeats in the people near the crime scene. They moved to scent and Jim's forehead wrinkled. 

"Stinks. That damned room deodorizer." 

"Easy, Jim. Pull back a little." Blair paused. "Okay, now filter out the deodorizer and focus on the other scents. One at a time." 

"Better," Jim said. "Apple. Someone ate an apple and the core is rotting under the bed." 

"Good. Next." 

"Something... something else." Jim grew agitated. "There's something there. I know what it is. At least, it's familiar. I've smelled it before. But, what the hell is it? What is it?" 

"Relax, Jim. Pull back for a minute. Then we'll try again." 

Jim's eyes flew open and he suddenly sat up straight. "After shave!" 

"Cool!" Blair sat on the coffee table and faced Jim. "What kind?" 

"Damned if I know," Jim said. "I would recognize it if I smelled it again, though. It's expensive, I'm pretty sure about that." 

"That's great, Jim. You did great. One thing though. I don't know that after shave in a hotel room is that out of line." 

"True." Jim rubbed his knee. "But expensive after shave that I also smelled at the crime scene on the wharf this morning makes it pretty significant." 

Blair grinned and nodded. "Yeah. That it would." His grin faded. "It also means that Charlie was probably calling you because he had information about the killer." 

Jim slid his hand around the back of Blair's neck and squeezed. "Probably. It also means the son of a bitch we're looking for probably killed Charlie. I don't think he overdosed." 

He stood and pulled Blair up with him into a hug. 

"We're going to catch him, Chief. He's going to pay." 

"I know." Blair leaned back and looked up at Jim. "So where do we start searching?" 

"I want to check out Charlie's apartment. He lived down in the warehouse district, in some rat house not far from where I adopted you." 

Blair nodded. "Let's go." 

He pulled back but Jim clung and kept him snug in the embrace. 

"Listen, Chief. There's still the question of why I keep seeing you dead in my dreams and visions. Maybe it's like you say and I'm just afraid and clouding what's really there. But, what's the harm in you laying low by sticking to the loft or the university until I get this case wrapped up?" 

Blair blinked once, opened his mouth then closed it. He felt a hot spot rise and tried to push it down. But, in an instant he was boiling. 

"Right." Blair shrugged and pushed away. "That's a great idea. You go off and wrap this up, Jim. No need for me to tag along. Hell, I wouldn't want to distract you from crime fighting. Just try not to trip on your fucking cape without me there to carry it for you." 

He turned away and headed to his room, suddenly anxious for a change of clothes, something dry and warm, something completely different. 

"Chief, come on." 

Blair pushed past the French doors and entered the room he had not slept in for weeks now. He pulled the dresser drawer open and hunted for clean socks and the heavy, blue sweater Naomi bought him last birthday. He wanted jeans and tennis shoes, the old ones with the hole near his right big toe. 

Jim's shadow fell from the doorway across the pile of socks stuffed into his drawer. Blair tossed a glance at him, which was a mistake since Jim chose now to drop the defenses. He looked like Tommy Bonita after passing on Blair for his team on the last day of field hockey before school ended. Tommy's team always won and sometimes he chose Blair to play but usually he just had that look when he passed him up in the line, the look Blair knew meant later they'd get ice cream and Tommy would buy. 

"Chief, you know I didn't mean it like that. I just meant.... I can't lose you." Jim walked toward him. "Can we just forget I said anything?" 

Blair pulled his pants off then the shirt. He sat on the futon and grabbed a sock. Jim knelt in front of him, pushed between Blair's knees, rubbed his hands, warm hands, up and down Blair's thighs. Blair couldn't bring himself to look up. This was not going to work, this rubbing-kneeling down-apology thing. No way he was going to fall for this. 

Jim tucked a finger under his chin and lifted. 

"I'm a moron." He brushed a light kiss across Blair's lips. "What do you expect from a throwback?" 

Blair stubbornly kept his mouth quiet. He stared defiantly into Jim's eyes, meeting passion with boredom. Jim squeezed the skin on his inner right thigh. 

"I have fears." Jim's eyes glowed with a faint dance of mischief. "I have fear of no sex for a very long time." 

Blair cracked. His lips twitched and he glanced away. 

"Those fears are reality based. No need to be questioning those fears." Blair picked at a thread on the blanket under him. "Yep, I'd be feeling pretty sure about those all right." 

Jim brushed their lips together once then again. He moved to the soft skin behind Blair's left ear and licked. Blair shuddered. 

"Any chance of negotiations, Chief? You pretty much have me at your mercy here." 

Blair snorted and rolled his eyes. Jim cupped his palm against Blair's face and waited. 

"You have to stop pushing me out, Jim. For whatever reason you do it, you have to stop. I may not carry a badge but I'm your partner in the work of the sentinel. I can't do my best if you don't let me in." 

"Point taken." Jim brought his other hand up and framed Blair's face. "Now, speaking of partnerships, when are you going to move your socks upstairs?" 

"Why? Do you have big plans for this room? Is that why you want my clothes out?" 

"It's just something I thought you'd want to do, you know, mix your stuff with mine." Jim glanced away and his cheeks flushed. "Not a big deal, though." He ran a warm palm across Blair's knee. "But this room could make a nice study, a place for a sentinel to go and think deep thoughts." 

"You don't need a room for that." Blair grinned. "You can get yourself in pretty deep without a special room." 

Jim feigned outrage. 

"Okay. I move my clothes upstairs if you can answer this question," Blair said. "When you were in school, if you were choosing players, would you have picked me for field hockey?" 

Jim quirked an eyebrow. "No way. You would have sucked at field hockey." 

He leaned in and ran his tongue along Blair's lower lip. 

"I'd pick you first for Guide, though. You're a kick ass Guide." 

He kissed Blair again, this time pushing his tongue in and rolling it around, scraping the tip across the roof of Blair's mouth until he shuddered. After a moment, he pulled back and looked down. 

"I'd pick you first for this too. Definitely first for this." 

Blair returned the kiss in what could have been interpreted as a shameless display of forgiveness. What the hell, he supposed he could live with that. Field hockey was highly overrated anyway. Now tonsil hockey, that was a sport. 

* * *

Charlie's apartment turned out to be a one-room hovel with a couch, a table, two metal folding chairs and an army of roaches. After an initial sensory sweep of the place, Jim dialed down his sense of smell to zero. The after shave didn't linger here. Jim guessed that Charlie did not invite people into this room. He felt a burst of sadness for the kid. Something about him always seemed special, somehow noble despite the bluster of personality that allowed him to survive on the street. 

Jim looked at Blair. He was standing by the couch, examining photos tacked to the wall. 

"I'm not finding anything useful here, Chief. Why don't we move on." 

Blair seemed to not hear him. He stared at one photograph as if mesmerized. Jim walked to him and looked over his shoulder. The picture was a stained, color Polaroid of Charlie and an older man. Judging by the features, he was Indian. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Charlie. The kid looked scared. That was one thing about Charlie, he always seemed scared and uncomfortable as if he wanted to climb out of his own skin. 

"What's so fascinating, Chief?" 

"Jim." Blair sucked in a breath and shook his head. "I had a dream this morning. I saw this man." 

"A dream?" Jim frowned. 

"Yes." Blair smiled. "Very cool." 

"Cool?" Jim felt his eyebrows creep into the stratosphere. "You lecture me to death over not sharing my dreams with you and now when the shoe is on the other foot all you have to say is 'Cool?'" 

"No. It's not like that, Jim. It was a great dream where I was the wolf and I followed the sound of a drum and I jumped into the light and then I was in the library and this old guy was smiling at me. Nothing weird, really." 

He at least had the grace to lower his eyes on that last statement. 

"Riiight," Jim said. 

He began to ask another question when the door to the apartment suddenly opened. Jim knocked Blair to the couch with one arm, pulled his gun with the other and caught the intruder in his sights. 

"Freeze, police." 

The man stood frozen in the doorway. Light from the hallway formed a halo around him for a moment and Jim adjusted his vision to scan the face. What he saw made him pause mid-breath. 

"Jim," the man said. "Been a long time." 

* * *

1986   
Reten de Catia prison break  
Venezuela 

The distant scatter of gunfire carried across the steep valley where Jim scanned the cliffside. He looked for any sign of a weak link in the chain of rope and human limbs above him. The bodies moved like spiders up the steep cliff. The four prisoners who were their mission moved with sloppy desperation, assisted from above and below by a strong body dressed in camouflage. The timetable pushed them all forward at a fast pace. 

"Ellison, move your ass." 

Jim adjusted his rifle, tightened the strap, and then returned to the climb. He was exhausted. Despite the chill breeze in the air at this elevation, sweat rolled down his face. Almost there, they were almost there. Pete disappeared in a roll onto the top of the cliff then his face came back into view along with an outstretched hand. He reached for the last of the prisoners they had been sent for. The man seemed to have reached the end of his endurance. He leaned against the wall of the cliff and sobbed, wailing a prayer in a stream of Spanish. Jim was the end of their line. He tried to offer support from below by holding the rope steady and bracing himself against the cliff wall. 

"Come on, man. Give me your goddamned hand." Pete patted the wall of the cliff for emphasis. "A few more feet and you're home free. I can hear the choppers. We're going home as soon as you get your ass up here." 

The man was beyond hearing. Jim saw his body sag and braced himself just in time to catch the added weight against the rope as he lost consciousness and slumped into the harness. Jim pulled himself toward the limp figure, grunting with the effort. He could see Pete's face above them, straining as he pulled. 

"Goddammit." Pete spoke through gritted teeth. "He's dead weight." 

Jim reached the man and began to work them up the last few inches. The rope jerked suddenly. 

"Pete, the harness, something's wrong." 

The rock gave way under Jim's right foot and he felt himself slipping. Pete lunged, caught the rope and their glances met in the instant the harness gave way. 

"Grab him, Pete." 

"No." 

Falling. He was falling, and reaching for the man, the man who was their mission, now a black blur tumbling away from him, down into the endless valley. The rope twirled like a cat's tail around his wrist and he grabbed it, held on, bounced against the wall of the cliff and the air left his lungs. He looked up and saw Pete, dragging him up. Jim grabbed the rope with both hands, went into motions born of training and began the climb until he was there, at the top, in Pete's face, dragged onto solid ground where he lay panting. 

"You should have grabbed him, Pete, not me. I lost him." The words tumbled from his mouth as Pete pulled him up. "I lost him." 

"My decision." Pete shook him with each sentence and his face held command. "Mine. My call. End of discussion, soldier." 

Then they were running toward the choppers, back to a world of light where success would be measured in a live body count of three and questions would be asked and answered. 

* * *

"Pete?" Jim's heart pounded as he kept his arm straight, gun aimed at a memory. "What the hell are you doing here?" 

"You aren't going to shoot me are you?" Pete entered the room and closed the door. "I'm sure you're not." 

"Answer my question." 

"I'm Bowen's inside man." Pete's eyes flashed. "The last one he's got." 

Jim blinked. "You're with the Bureau." 

"Eight years." Pete nodded. "The last one has been spent on this case. I'm in Kennet's circle of trust. It's a small circle, a nasty circle. I'm liable to get my head blown off if I get caught talking with you. I'm the one taking the chance here so put the fucking gun away, Jim." 

Jim paused for another instant, almost dizzy from the feel of shifting realities. He looked at Pete's face, the same but for a few extra lines, a new scar above the left eyebrow, but the eyes had changed. They seemed darker, still blue but somehow different. 

"Did you follow us here?" Jim holstered his gun. 

Pete moved to the table and pulled one of the metal chairs over to face the couch. He sank onto it and released a sigh. 

"I've been staking out the place. I figured you would show sooner or later." 

Jim sat beside Blair on the couch. 

"What made you think that we'd come here?" 

"Charlie was your snitch." Pete paused as if waiting for Jim to react. 

"No point in protecting him now, Jim." Pete leaned his elbows on his knees. "I know he's dead. And, I know you figure he was murdered. You're here to find out why he was trying to contact you the night he died. Let me clear that up. I asked him to give you a message. The bust on the wharf was a set-up." Pete pressed his thumb to the spot between his eyebrows. "I know it was Bowen. I don't know his angle yet or why he hasn't brought me down, but he will. It's a matter of time. I would either be dead by now or would have heard if he had something going with Kennet. It has to be bigger. He wants to keep Kennet in business for some reason." 

"Bowen?" Blair spoke up from beside him. "You're saying the agent in charge of your whole investigation is dirty?" 

"That's what I'm saying, Mr. Sandburg." 

"You know who I am?" 

"Kennet has me tracking Jim's movements and associations." 

"Why?" Jim asked. 

"You've been scaring off business in the neighborhoods with your murder investigation. Johhny Warner was a two-bit drug dealer, a little blip of nothing who was skimming off the top. He fucked with Kennet and got his due. I'm Kennet's point man for this area. He was happy with me until you came along and began stomping all over this territory, making noise, flashing your badge. Now he's not so happy. He doesn't like you much." 

"Sounds like you don't either." Jim reacted to an odd timbre of irritation in Pete's voice. "You expecting an apology?" 

Blair blew out a harsh laugh, shifted beside him and his foot hit something under the couch. He leaned over to pull it out. His eyes grew wide and he looked at Jim. 

"Drum." Blair whispered the word and pulled the instrument into his lap, caressed it like a holy find. 

"Fuck you, Ellison." Pete drew his attention back. "It's easy for you to sit there and be an asshole when you're not the one hanging by your fingernails. I'm a dead man if I don't get your help." He dropped his head. "I'm asking, Jim." 

The words punched his gut. 

"Easy, Pete. You've got it. Of course I'm going to help." He leaned forward and grasped Pete's arm. "Now start from the beginning. Give me something other than a hunch to finger Bowen in this." 

Pete lifted a grateful face. He nodded and blew out a breath. 

"Franklin is one of the bodies you saw under the wharf this morning. He had something solid on Bowen, but didn't get the chance to share it with me. All I've got is his word and my 'hunch.' I'm playing for my life here so you can damn well believe I have faith in both. Bowen's dirty, Jim. I'm telling you." 

"Then it's time to pull you out. You're unprotected. We bring Bowen in for questioning and see what shakes loose." 

"No way, Jim. I've put a year into this. I'm not pulling out now." 

Jim shook his head, aware of the unease creeping along his spine. "I understand where you're coming from, but I don't like it. How am I supposed to stay close enough to give you back up? How do we stay in contact?" 

"I've thought it through. We use me as bait to set Bowen up," Pete said. "I arrange a meet between him and me. Give him the opportunity to take me out. Once it's set, I call you with the when and where. You're my witness." 

"Pete," Jim sighed. "Think about it. We may take down Bowen, but who's in this with him? You need to realize the risk. Your cover could get blown from another source." 

"I get that." Pete nodded. "I do. We can deal with the rest after we get Bowen. For now, let's focus on him. One step at a time." 

Jim rubbed one hand down his face. "All right. We play it your way. What are your ideas for the meet?" 

"Let me work it out." Pete's eyes glowed. "I knew I could count on you. Knew it." 

Something buzzed, light flared then dimmed and for an instant Jim sat across from himself. Pete spoke from Jim's face and the eyes were black. Boundaries gave and Jim saw his own life, spilling toward him, seeping bits of his past into the room, filling this moment with regret. 

"Jim? You okay?" Pete asked. 

Jim blinked and found Pete staring as the room settled back into the pale light of late afternoon. 

"Fine." His voice held steady. 

Pete stood. "Okay. I'll reach you when I've got things set. Watch your back, Ellison." 

Jim walked with him to the door and pulled him into a brief hug. 

"Watch your own back, Torrino." 

Jim closed the door behind Pete then turned to the couch. Blair still sat with the drum on his lap. His arms were curled around it, his head bowed. He swayed the slightest bit back and forth. Curls slid forward, sheltering his face and his lips moved. Jim focused on the whisper: one word repeated over and over. 

"Koyaanisquatsi." 

Jim strode to the couch, sat next to Blair and pulled him backward. Blair fell heavily against him. Jim pushed the curls from his face and grasped his chin. He tilted his face up and met a blank gaze. Blair's eyes were open and empty, the pupils small. 

"Blair." Jim shook him gently. "Come on, Chief. Don't do this to me." 

Jim slid his palm against the cool cheek, rubbed his thumb across the soft circle of skin beneath Blair's eye. 

"Come on." Jim pressed his mouth to Blair's. The lips were warm and soft, so still. "Come back." He slapped one cheek. "Goddammit Sandburg!" 

Blair blinked once then again until his eyes seemed to focus on Jim's face. 

"Chaos," he said. 

It took time, but Jim finally roused Blair enough to lead him out of the apartment and into the truck. On the drive home, Blair dozed in the seat. Jim threw glances at the peaceful face and felt bursts of affection and anger. What the hell was going to happen next? Blair clung fiercely to the drum and frowned when Jim attempted to pull it away from him. When they arrived at the loft, Jim reached for it and Blair immediately stirred. 

"Chief?" 

Blair stretched with a satisfied moan and rolled his face toward Jim. Blue eyes opened and warmed with recognition. 

"We have to quit meeting like this." 

Jim huffed out a breath. 

"Funny, Rip Van Winkle." He moved out of the truck and around to help Blair. 

"I'm fine." Blair waved his hand away. "Now you on the other hand don't look so hot. Maybe next time, you'll get the nap and I'll do the wake the slug routine." 

Blair swayed a bit and Jim drew him close with an arm around his shoulders. 

"I don't accept that there will be a 'next time,'" Jim said as he led them through the front door then into the elevator. 

"Ooh, now there's a surprise." Blair grinned and rolled his face against Jim's chest. 

The intimate gesture warmed Jim. The drum got in the way of a proper hug so he settled for threading his hand through long curls and holding Blair's head still as he kissed him. The lips were soft. They yielded to his tongue and he pushed in, for a moment, just a taste, to remind him of pure things and memories without camouflage. 

They spent the evening close to each other, ignoring the television as it played a background noise to foreplay. For now, Jim wanted to focus on Blair and nothing else. He told Blair the basics about Pete Torrino then quieted his stream of questions with a series of what he felt to be quite masterful kisses, followed by removal of shirts and a session of lewd maneuvers with his tongue. Blair made the best sounds. Jim stretched back across the couch, pulling Blair on top of him. He opened his senses, let them play. Blair rubbed against him, restless as a live wire. 

"God, you taste good." Blair marked Jim's neck and shoulder with hot, open-mouthed kisses. He trailed down Jim's chest, circled his tongue around one nipple and bit. 

Jim bucked and gritted his teeth in an effort not to come in his pants. 

"Stealing my lines now, Chief?" He panted. "Would of thought a scholar like you could come up with some fresh stuff." 

Blair straddled him. Pulled Jim's arms above his head and held them down. Hair fell in a curtain around his face and he looked at Jim with a fierce light in his eyes, lawless and shimmering. 

"You want fresh?" Such a soft voice from a face like that. It made Jim's cock ache. 

"I want my pants off. I want your pants off." Jim tried to gather his thoughts. "Why the hell do we still have our pants on?" 

Blair chuckled. The sound was an old motor, humming low, swirling in a dirty rumble within his throat. 

"Want me naked?" he asked. "What else do you want?" 

He ground his crotch against Jim's and they both moaned. Blair's lips parted on a soft pant and they were red and wet. 

"Shit. Chief. Slow it down." His breath hitched and his thoughts tumbled together. "I'm not staining these pants." 

Blair's laughter started small then bloomed into a proper roar. Jim joined in, helpless against it, it took over his belly, making it jump, which set Blair off even more and soon it was all over but the snorting. With a gasp, Blair slumped against him and buried his face in Jim's neck. Jim let his own laughter die down into soft little "hees" as he carded the tangles out of Blair's hair. 

Blair pulled back and circled his arms around Jim's head. He lay one palm on top of Jim's hair and stroked. Face flushed, eyes moist from laughter, he looked down at Jim and smiled. Jim drank his fill of the sight and his bones melted. 

"What do you want, Jim? I'll give it to you. Whatever you want." 

Blair's glance was a door wide open. Jim looked inside and lost his breath. Everything was there. Everything. 

"I want to come inside you." The words tumbled from him, low like a secret wish. 

Heat flared in Blair's eyes and he pulled back, stood up and held his hand out to Jim. Jim swallowed and gripped the warm palm. He stumbled and Blair caught him. They stood together in an embrace and Blair chuckled. 

"Think you're going to make it up the stairs?" 

"Oh yeah." 

Jim took off running. He beat Blair to the top by three strides. 

"Better get those pants off, Jim." Blair grinned. "Think wrinkles, think busted zippers." 

Jim quirked an eyebrow, ran his tongue along his lips in an effort to look sexy then lowered the zipper, slowly, one thrust of hips tossed in for good measure. Must have worked; Blair rushed forward like a freight train. 

They were naked, somehow they were naked and God it felt good. Blair's skin against his, their cocks sliding together. He brought his knees up around Blair's hips and caged them as they pumped and ground in little circles. Blair was shaking. His hands were everywhere, skimming and swirling across Jim's body like birds afraid to land. 

"I want to give you..." Blair's words trailed off into a swallow. He rested his forehead against Jim's chest and fisted the sheets until the muscles in his arms quivered. 

"Shh." Jim ran one hand in a long sweep down his spine, spreading his fingers wide along the smooth back. 

Blair looked up. His eyes were wide and suddenly so young. 

"What Chief?" Jim cupped his cheek. " What is it?" 

"I want to be what you need." Blair's voice sounded husky and raw. 

He dove down and muscled his tongue into Jim's mouth. Jim moaned at the sensation of slick warmth across his lips. Blair took his time with the kiss and Jim began to feel the dizziness of high altitude. He pulled back, panting as Blair suckled down his neck, moaning as if it weren't enough, not nearly enough. 

"Easy, Easy," Jim said. 

He rolled them over and pinned Blair down, held his face in a firm grip. Blair moaned, spread his legs wide and thrust up in a helpless rhythm. 

"Let me..." Blair's breath hitched. 

"Look at me." Jim struggled to hold him still. "Blair. Listen." 

Blair stared up at him with bright eyes. 

"You are what I need." Jim brushed a kiss against his temple, swallowed around a sudden ache in his throat. "You have to know that, Blair. You have to know. You're everything." 

Blair sank into the mattress below him, suddenly quiet and focused. 

"Yeah?" he said and shrugged in one of the sorriest attempts Jim had ever seen to look casual. 

"Yeah." Jim grinned. "Just don't expect to hear that too often. I'm no pushover." 

Blair's lips twitched then spread into a grin. 

"Bet I can make you roll over," he said. 

"Oh yeah?" Jim dropped his full weight onto the warm body beneath him. 

"I want to ride your cock." Blair looked at him in a way that said you-are-my-roller-coaster. 

Heat flashed through Jim's belly. He moaned and the sound vibrated through him. In a blatant display of pride, he waited a full three seconds before rolling off Blair and onto his back. Before rolling over, so to speak. 

Jim trembled with the effort it took to release Blair and allow him control over the pace. Blair controlled most things, he decided. When you really looked at the events in his days now, the outcome of moments, you found Blair. The thought lifted him into a space of joy he could not remember visiting. A grin took his face as he watched Blair lunge toward the nightstand, pull out condom and lube. He returned to Jim, straddled him and looked down. 

"You like this idea." Blair was breathless and smiling. 

"You know what you're doing here, Darwin?" 

"I've been reading. Doing some research." 

Jim chortled and Blair made a face. 

"You'd rather I had practiced?" 

Jim growled and pulled Blair down into an impressively possessive kiss. 

"No practicing. No one else gets to help you rehearse. Big rule to remember there, Chief." 

"Got it, got it." Blair chuckled and pulled back. His eyebrows danced as he tore the condom packet open with his teeth. "Performing live tonight, Blair Sandburg, attempting for the first time in the history of his sexual life: 'The Ride.'" He pumped the air with his fists. "The crowd goes wild." 

Jim shook his head and chuckled. "Where's your helmet?" 

Blair pulled the condom from the packet and gripped Jim's cock. Thus it began, the slow torture of preparation. 

"Shit. Ah, shit." Jim clutched the sheets in desperate fists as Blair finally began to sink onto his cock. "Move slow." He panted. "Take it easy... Don't hurt yourself." 

Jim nearly came as the head of his cock slipped past the ring of muscle. He grunted with the effort of holding back. 

"Easy, damnit, slow it down," Jim gripped Blair's waist and lifted. Blair pushed down with stubborn force. 

"Sandburg!" 

"Ellison!" Blair tried to glare but the grin spoiled it. "Damn backseat driver." 

Jim snorted and struggled against the urge to buck and thrust up into that tight, warm space. 

"Here we go." Blair squeezed his forearms and moved his ass in a slow circle. "Give it up, Detective." 

Jim caved to that deep voice, the soft rumble of Sandburg rolling in. He eased his grip, felt the slow slide of his cock into heat and gave in to the thrill. He watched Blair's face, saw the instant when pleasure took over, nearly lost himself to Blair's small huffs of breath. 

"Jim." 

Blair rolled his hips in a tight circle, spread his fingers across Jim's chest and slid up then down. Jim abandoned thought. 

"Yes" became his mantra and he spoke it in different tones, pulled all variety of inflections and finally shouted it and came, pulsing over and over, rolling with the wave. When he came back down, he found Blair still riding him, movements jerky, almost frantic. Jim watched Blair toss his head back, reveal a long expanse of neck; curls tumbled down. He took Blair's cock in a firm grip and pumped once, twice. Blair came with a shout then sagged forward in an exhausted heap on Jim's chest. 

As they lay together, Jim reveled in the moment, held the warm armful close, mourned the slide of his cock from Blair's body. Blair rested his face against Jim's neck, his breath a moist stream. Jim slid his fingers into the curls, massaged his scalp and smiled at the boneless slump and the contented hum against his neck. 

"Smooth driving, Chief." Jim heard the smile in his own voice. 

Blair's laugh was a beautiful sound. 

"How did I get so lucky, huh?" Jim kissed the closest patch of curls. "I'm not such a prize, you know?" 

Blair pulled back then and looked at him, gaze soft but tenacious. 

"You are a good man, Jim Ellison," he said. "The best man I've ever known." 

He lay back down then, tangled their limbs, settled in. Jim held on, rode out the moment as his eyes stung and the lump swelled then faded in his throat. A good man. He fell asleep with this thought rolling about in his mind, planting itself in a once barren place. He slept the night through without dreams and woke in the morning to a shared space of pillow and a smile sent his way from sleepy, blue eyes. 

* * *

Blair loved mornings, especially the ones with Jim in the mood for slow sex. This morning, Jim moved in a steady pace, covering him, touching, tasting every inch until they both came from the friction of their bodies. Afterwards, Jim dozed off with a goofy smile on his face while Blair lay awake and thought of mysteries and visions and what it all meant. It was early; too early to get up but the drum waited. He itched to study it and comb his notes for references about Hopi culture. On the edge of the drum were symbols, some Blair recognized as part of the medicine circle. But, others were less clear and he wanted to know their message. He wanted to know how Charlie came to own a shaman's drum. 

He left Jim and padded downstairs to his old room. An hour later, he started as a warm hand cupped his neck. He peered over his glasses and found Jim standing beside him, chest peeking out from his blue robe, a wild case of bed-head making him look like a fluffed up blue jay. 

"Hey," Jim said. 

He glanced at the desk Blair had scattered his papers and books across. 

"Hey." Blair grinned. "You snuck up on me." 

"You were pretty engrossed in whatever you're reading there." Jim leaned down, dropped a kiss on his nose then his lips. 

Jim released his neck and perched on the edge of the desk. He ran his hand along the drum. 

"This thing seems to have quite the hold over you." Jim frowned a bit. "Should I be worried?" 

"It's just interesting. I've been trying to figure out what all of the symbols around its edge mean. A couple are really unique. I think they may be specific to Charlie's tribe, maybe Charlie himself." Blair shook his head. "Wish I'd gotten closer to him. Maybe it would have helped him to talk about where he came from, why he left." 

"Chief, it's not like we didn't try. And, I always got the feeling he was running away from himself. Charlie was lost and I'm not sure he was ready to find his way yet. In time, he might have been. But, we'll never know." 

Jim's face grew hard. 

"What're you thinking about?" Blair asked. 

"Bowen." 

"Yeah." Blair shook his head. "I never would have pegged him as dirty. He just seems too driven, too... I don't know, he kind of reminds me of you." 

"You don't think I could be dirty, Chief?" 

Blair began to joke but stopped when he caught the cautious glint of purpose in Jim's eyes. 

"No, Jim. I don't think you ever could." Blair stood and moved in close to Jim, curled his hands around his waist and shook him gently. "Where'd that question come from?" 

Jim ran his hands up Blair's arms and across his shoulders. He pushed a curl behind Blair's ear and smiled, all the while not meeting Blair's gaze. 

"I'm not thinking deep thoughts here, Chief. Just reminding you that people can surprise you. You don't know everything about me or my past. If you did..." 

"I would still be right here." Blair snared Jim's gaze and held it. "The only person expecting perfection from you is you, Jim. People make mistakes, sometimes they do things they don't want to do and their reasons vary. Being a sentinel doesn't exempt you from the human race, man." Blair grinned. "Neither does being a detective. As a matter of fact, I remember a bedtime story Naomi used to read to me. It had something to do with pigs and tyranny..." 

"I'll show you tyranny." Jim's eyes danced despite the stern tone. "Just remember who owns the handcuffs around here." 

"Ooh." Blair wiggled his eyebrows. "Naomi never got to that chapter." 

Jim tried for an evil grin but the little tufts of hair sticking out at odd angles around his head spoiled the effect. He reached down to cup Blair's ass and squeezed. Blair made an appreciative sound. 

"Like that?" Jim leaned in for a kiss, which grew into a full-blown exploration of Blair's mouth. 

He kneaded Blair's ass and sucked his tongue. Kneading and sucking and Jim, oh man. In the span of three seconds, Blair switched from amused to aroused, just in time to get a final lick across his lips and a swat on his ass. 

"Breakfast, Chief. It's your turn." Jim pulled away and headed toward the bathroom. 

Blair stared after him and moaned. He reached down, adjusted the now painful bulge in his boxers and planned a breakfast menu based on tofu and kiwi. 

After making plans for the day, they headed out. Blair would go to the university for awhile in the morning to check out the library's information on Hopi symbols. Jim would head to the station to do some background checking on Bowen and would bring Simon up to speed. 

Blair arrived at Rainier at an opportune time to catch a parking space not far from the entrance to the library. He pulled his backpack from the passenger seat of the Volvo and tucked the drum under his arm. He caught the reflection of blue sky in the glass doors as he opened them then stepped inside the dim entrance. A fluorescent light fell on the bulletin board where slips of paper flapped in the brief breeze stirred by his entrance. He scanned them out of habit, finding nothing new beyond a notice about a new Narcotics Anonymous meeting to be held on Thursday evenings. He wondered how Charlie would have fared after rehab, if he would have stayed clean and sober. It seemed to Blair that he would have. Odd to have such an intimate feeling for someone he barely knew, to carry a sense of knowledge about his soul. 

Blair shook his head and strode down the hallway to the information desk. He paused to ask about the expanded hours. A pretty young woman with chocolate eyes and a very pregnant belly confirmed the information for him. He moved on then to the main room of the library. He stood still for a moment, enjoying the small thrill this quiet place still gave him. After all the years and time spent in this library, it still felt large and limitless, full of answers to questions he wanted to someday have asked himself. 

He settled at a table near the Native American studies section. A few students were spread out near him, but for the moment, he had the table to himself. He took advantage and spread his notes out, dropped his backpack in a chair and rested the drum on top of it. He then took off in search of one of the books he needed. He scanned the shelves, running his fingers along the edges of bound volumes, enjoying the solid feel of leather mixed with the crinkle of plastic and slick covers. Eventually, he found what he was looking for. He crouched in the aisle and skimmed to a page on the Hopi Life Plan. All the symbols on the drum were there, all but the two he thought were specific to Charlie and his tribe. 

Blair sighed and moved his fingers restlessly across the page, eventually settling on one symbol, The Spiral. This was the most prominent symbol on the drum, repeated in several spots. Blair knew its meaning, respected it. He believed in the idea that all living things leave something behind when they move beyond the physical world. The spiral in essence represented birth from one plane of existence to another, a perpetual cycle with everything connecting. 

Something pricked at the skin along Blair's neck. He looked up to find a man standing at the end of the row of books. It was him, the man from his dream, the man in Charlie's photograph. Blair stood and smiled. He walked toward the man, dropped his book, bent to pick it up then stood again to find the man gone, vanished. 

"Hey." 

Blair ran to the end of the row, scanned right to left then caught a flash of silver braid turning the corner. Blair followed but once again came to an empty row. He walked to the end and found himself back near his table. The man was nowhere to be seen, but a young woman stood at his table, the pregnant woman from the information desk. She held the drum, caressing it like a long lost friend. She looked up as he approached. 

"This is Charlie's," she said. "Why do you have Charlie's drum?" 

Suspicion flared from dark brown eyes and black ringlets spilled down her back as she tossed her chin up and glared at him. Her name was Rosalita. She would not leave the library with Blair to talk privately. So he told her of Charlie's death in this quiet place and learned in that moment she had loved him. She cried in a hush, hand pressed to her mouth, breath sliding in quiet puffs around her fingers. Blair rested his hand on her shoulder, felt inadequate and raw, wanted words to come to him, something wise and true, but there was nothing, just a tight ache in his throat and the need to do what he could not do. Charlie would not be coming back. 

"I'm so sorry," he said over and over, "I'm so sorry." 

They sat and the tears finally ended as Blair rummaged through his backpack for the package of Kleenex he knew would be crushed near the bottom. 

"Thank you," she said as he handed her the pack. 

"Ah Charlie." She spoke again, something whispered in Spanish which Blair did not quite catch, then shook her head and leaned back in her chair, resting one hand on her stomach, moving it in circles, spirals of comfort to herself. 

"Your baby." Blair cleared his throat. "Is Charlie the father?" 

"Yes, but he never knew he was to be a father." Dark emotion flashed across her face, leaving a shadow of anger and pain. "We met here. We were both students, but he left months ago before I knew I was pregnant. The drugs and that man took him over. There was no room for me. And I was not going to allow him to know of his son until he chose me, until he came back." 

Tears rolled like prisoners down her cheeks, escaping despite efforts to hold her eyes wide and keep them hidden. Blair rolled her words over in his head. 

"You said 'that man.'" Blair rubbed his hand along the table. "Can you tell me about him? Describe him?" 

She looked at him with a sudden resignation. "Charlie was murdered, wasn't he?" 

Blair looked down at the table, balled his hand into a fist and pressed against the cool wood. 

"I think he was," he said. 

"The man calls himself Rock." She pulled the drum close and fingered the edge. "He wore a cowboy hat. Liked to tease Charlie about it. He got off on the power he had over Charlie, kept him strung out so Charlie would do things." Her face crumpled and her voice grew strained. "Once, he told Charlie I had to join them or he wouldn't get his fix. Charlie said no. It was the only time he ever said no to Rock." 

"What happened?" 

"Charlie left with him. The next time I saw him, he had bruises and he was high." Her voice shook. "He took his stuff from our apartment, said he was moving in with Rock. I told him to get off the drugs and get rid of that man or not to come back." 

"He never came back, did he?" Blair kept his voice soft. 

"No," she said. "He never did." 

* * *

Jim leaned against the table in Simon Bank's office. He squeezed the edge in symphony with each drum of Simon's fingers against his desk. 

"So." Simon's voice dipped into the dangerous zone of low calm. "You're telling me that you want me to approve you acting as backup for this sting operation. And the goal of this operation is to take down Luke Bowen?" 

"Simon, the goal is to uncover the truth." Jim rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. "At this point, the only thing I'm sure about is the fact that if we don't step in, one or both of these men could end up dead." 

"Tell me something, Jim." Simon stood, paced to the window and looked out. "Do you have any other old friends we might be running into here? Maybe someone who knows the mayor is actually a serial killer?" 

"Simon, what do you want from me? Why are you so hacked over this?" 

"I'm hacked, Jim, because it rubs against my grain to take the word of some man I have never met against an agent I happen to respect." Simon turned to him and his voice rose by degrees until Jim flinched. "It feels damned uncomfortable to me." 

"I'm not exactly comfortable here, Captain, but what are our choices?" 

Simon came to stand in front of Jim, folded his arms and frowned. He paused as if considering his answer then blew out a breath and seemed to deflate. 

"You're right, Jim." He shook his head. "I don't like the way this is going down, but it does sound like we don't have much choice other than to see what plays out between these two. Let me know when you hear the details of the meet." 

"Thank you, sir." Jim felt a wave of gratitude. "I appreciate your understanding." 

"Out." Simon waved toward the door and returned to his desk. 

Jim walked to the door of the office. His cell phone rang as he reached for the knob and he traded startled looks with Simon as he answered it. 

"Ellison." 

"We're set, Jim." Pete sounded out of breath. "I'm meeting Bowen at noon. Third floor of the old Baker building downtown." 

Jim checked his watch. "What? Am I supposed to fly? There's no way in hell I can get there in fifteen minutes. We call this off." 

"I am not calling this off. Just move your ass. This is my show, Jim. Remember that." 

The line went dead and Jim turned an astonished face to Simon. "The Baker Building." 

"Shit." Simon grabbed his coat and followed Jim. 

As they strode from the bullpen, Pete's words swirled in his head, "my show... my show." Jim felt a sudden shift in the air. It crackled around him. 

...My show boy, remember that... 

Jim paused in the hallway, heart pounding as puzzle pieces fell together. Simon was speaking to him, but his words were muffled by a growl. Jim turned in time to see the twitch of a tail and the flash of clear, blue eyes before the elevator opened and the panther slid inside. Blair stepped off in the next instant. 

"Blair." Jim called to him. 

Blair rushed over. 

"Jim, I met..." He paused and searched Jim's face. "What is it? What's happened?" 

"It was Pete's voice in the loft yesterday. Blair, it was Pete." 

Simon herded them into the elevator. 

"Do you think he's the one?" Blair asked. "Do you think he killed Charlie?" 

"My gut tells me yes, but we have to gather evidence not instinct." Jim pressed the button for the garage level. "The meet is going down. We have to move it." 

"Nice of you to mention the word 'evidence,' Jim." Simon glared at him. "Care to explain to me why your gut suddenly thinks Pete Torrino is a killer?" 

"It involves visions, Simon." 

Simon held up one hand, rolled his eyes then turned face forward to watch the floors flashing one by one down to ground level. 

"Shit," he said. 

Jim nodded and kept his mouth shut. 

They sped toward the meet with Simon following in his own car. Jim filled Blair in on the details of the last ten minutes. They cut the lights and sirens a few blocks from the factory district where the Baker Building squatted like a tomb. Brick crumbled from the sides of the four story building and windows gaped in spots where boards had been pulled back. They met at the front entrance to the building. Boards had been pried away from the door. Jim pushed and it swayed open. 

"Can you hear them, Jim?" Blair touched his back with a warm palm. 

Jim extended his hearing and filtered through the sounds of the old building until he heard voices. 

"Put the gun down, Pete. You don't want to do this." Bowen spoke slowly. "Look at me, Pete. We're on the same team. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on." 

"Team? You think this is about teams, Luke? Here's what's going on. I'm about to kill you." Pete's laugh was wild and low. "In self defense." 

Jim pulled his focus back to the street. 

"They're on the third floor. No one else is in the building. We have to hurry." 

He ran into the building, toward the stairwell, took the stairs two at a time, nearly tripped on the second story landing. 

"Careful, Jim." Blair's voice floated up to him. 

Jim cursed. They weren't going to make it. 

"Pete, drop your gun." Jim yelled as he reached the third floor, bellowed so Torrino would hear him. "I know you set this up, Pete. Drop your gun now!" 

The sound of a scuffle reached him then a shot echoed down the corridor. Jim froze and tried to target the source. Doors stretched before him, a wing of dark, empty rooms. Then he had it. The last room on the right. Jim took off running with Simon and Blair on his heels. 

He paused just outside the door of the room, pressed Blair back against the wall then motioned a count of three to Simon. Simon nodded and on three they burst in. 

"Police. Drop your weapons." Simon's voice echoed around them. 

Bowen lay unconscious in the center of the room, blood trailing from a bullet wound to his leg. Pete was nowhere to be seen. Jim extended his senses and caught the scent; the after shave from the wharf and the hotel now wafted out the open window of this room. Jim rushed forward and saw the flash of black jeans above him on the fire escape. He turned back to the room. Simon was beside Bowen, applying pressure to the wound. 

"He's heading to the roof." 

"Go after him." Simon ordered then turned to Blair who now stood in the doorway. "Sandburg, call for backup and an ambulance. Officer down." 

Jim listened for clues to Pete's location and heard him moving away from the ledge, boots scuffing against the roof. Jim climbed the fire escape then paused before pulling himself over the ledge. He spotted Pete at the door leading back into the building, tugging then cursing when the door wouldn't open. Pete pointed his gun at the door handle. 

"Freeze!" Jim shouted. "Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air." 

Pete paused for a moment, kept his gun trained on the door then turned slowly, dropping his arms to his sides. His gun dangled from one finger. 

"Jim. You really know how to fuck things up, don't you?" 

"I said drop your gun." Jim kept his weapon trained on Pete and slipped over the ledge to stand on the roof. "Now!" 

"All you had to do was show up a minute too late. But, you distracted me." Pete cocked his head. "Why couldn't you just do your part? Why did you have to go and think about it?" 

Jim shivered as the breeze picked up. 

"What was Kennet cutting you in for?" Jim asked. "How much did he pay you to sell out your own team?" 

Pete laughed. 

"I didn't sell them out, Jim. I just killed them. I passed the word to the three of them that we were to meet on the wharf at midnight. Then I hired some muscle, showed up and took them out. Kennet had nothing to do with it." 

"Then why?" 

"The whole investigation was cutting too close. And, I couldn't have that. I couldn't have them ending things. Bowen was supposed to take the rap." He frowned. "What the hell tipped you off? Did you figure something out while you were stomping all over my territory because of Johhny, that fucking little dealer?" 

"If it's not Kennet then who are you working for? Who's lining your pockets?" 

"It's not about money, Jim." Pete shook his head like a disappointed schoolteacher. "It's about power. You never did grasp the potential within yourself. Not as a soldier, certainly not as a cop." He smiled. "I bet you've never tasted it, have you? That sweet moment when they cave to you because they're so fucking afraid of what you'll do to them if they don't? The little business men, living off the skim from Kennet all know to cut me in." He laughed. "And the beauty part is they think I'm Kennet's up and comer. Hell, the whores want to marry me. I have them lining up to suck my cock." 

"You call that power?" Jim said. "I call it pathetic." 

The smile died and replaced itself with a cold look. 

"You wouldn't know. You've never had your own kingdom. You never had the guts to take what you wanted." 

"What about Charlie?" Jim felt the warm metal of the trigger, caressed it with a slide of his finger back and forth. "Why did you kill him?" 

Pete shrugged. "He knew too much about my operation. It was a night to tie up loose ends. It turned out he had your name and number by the bed. I knew he snitched to someone, just never realized it was you. It was my lucky night. I tied everything up and planted your card at the wharf so you would get pulled in. Charlie was just luck, a little bonus I could use to get to you." 

Rage flooded him. "You son of a bitch." 

"Now you're getting it. Let yourself go." Something flashed in Pete's eyes. "You want to kill me, don't you, Jim? And you know you can do it. All you have to do is pull the trigger. Squeeze. It's right there. The power over life and death." He smiled and nodded, gently encouraging. "See? We're not so different." 

The breeze picked up. It swirled around them, lifting dust and bits of trash into spirals. Jim tried to breathe past the knot in his throat, swallowed and tasted bile. He heard sirens in the distance, rolling close then fading back. He clenched his teeth against the urge to squeeze the trigger, to wipe the smile off the face of a man who once saved him, and his mind felt hot and dark and the world grew jumbled and in the instant before chaos took hold he remembered Blair's words. 

...You're a good man... 

Jim eased his finger back from the trigger and the smile left Pete's face. He suddenly looked burdened. Jim caught the movement as Pete tightened his grip, lifted the gun and pointed. 

"Drop it, Pete." 

He smiled. 

Jim fired. Pete fell back, arms stretched wide, gun skittering away. Jim ran forward and stared at the dark bloom across Pete's chest. 

"Lie still." Jim pressed his hand against the wound and caught the fading light in Pete's eyes. 

"It's okay, Jim." Blood swelled in the spaces between his teeth. "Didn't really think you could do it. Figured I'd have to help things along. My decision..." 

The light faded then died and Jim brushed his palm over Pete's face, pushing the eyelids closed. He caught movement to his right and looked up to see a black hat, caught in the spiral of a sudden breeze, tossed over the roof, beyond the edge of Jim's world. 

* * *

Jim entered the loft and tossed his keys in the basket. He immediately searched for Blair and found him on the balcony, leaning on the railing, looking skyward. It was a mild day, cool but not cold and the sun ruled despite clouds rolling in clumps from the bay. He wore an old sweatshirt, faded jeans and mismatched socks. The light bounced off the jumble of curls, catching shades of gold. Jim took a moment to enjoy the view before glancing at the mess currently spread across the table. 

The laptop hummed beside papers and journals, which were piled up on top of each other. 

"We have a study now, Chief." He muttered then smiled at the thought. 

The journal on top of the heap lay open. He glanced at the title of the article, "Ethics and Corruption: Law Enforcement within Urban Culture." He fingered the page and felt a flutter in his gut as he thought of Pete's kingdom and thin moments of decision when the only guidance Jim had felt came from the barrel of a gun. He left the table and wandered toward the balcony, anxious to touch Blair. 

"Hey." He walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around Blair, pulling him against his chest. 

Blair smiled and rolled his head back on Jim's shoulder. "Hey." 

Jim dropped a kiss on his temple then nuzzled a path from his ear to his neck. 

"Did you get a chance to see Bowen?" Blair asked. 

"Yeah." Jim moved his nose up and buried it in soft curls. "He's doing well. Has some physical therapy facing him, but I'm sure he's up to the challenge. He's pissed that Kennet's still in business." 

"Like some other cop I know." 

Blair wrapped his arms around Jim's and squeezed. 

"I wonder how things are going in Arizona," Blair said. "Rosalita's flight should have arrived by now. She's probably met Charlie's grandfather." 

"Hard to say." Jim rested his chin on Blair's shoulder. "I imagine it's awkward, but she seemed pretty determined to get to know him." 

Blair smiled. "I have a feeling they're going to hit it off." 

They stood quietly for a moment and Jim shed the day like a heavy coat. 

"You know, Chief. We've got a whole evening ahead of us." 

"Something you want to do?" Blair quirked his eyebrow. 

"I was thinking we could take a ride." Jim grinned and bumped his hips forward. 

"Yeah?" Blair's skin grew warmer. 

"Yeah. And it's my turn to drive." 

* * *

End

 


End file.
